Kill the Dead (Sandman Slim 2)

“I always enjoy a little genuflecting. Shall we walk?”

Lucifer, Jan, Koralin, and Ritchie stroll on ahead looking impressive and important. Brigitte and I follow a few steps behind. Close enough to keep an eye on things, but far enough back that we look like a couple of sixteen-year-olds pretending we’re not with our parents.

“So, you’re the famous Sandman Slim. I supposed we both have to have funny names to do our jobs. Do you get that my name is a little joke?”

“You mean how there’s Brigitte Bardot, a jet-propelled French succubus from the sixties? Got famous in And God Created Woman. Got respected in Contempt. Kind of a nut job, but she liked dogs. Then there’s Bardo, like the Buddhist states of being. Life, death, enlightenment, and a side of fries. Yeah, I think I got it.”

“Very nice. Most Americans don’t understand.”

“Don’t be too impressed. Everyone in California is a Buddhist for fifteen minutes. Then they realize they’re not allowed to eat chili dogs and enlightenment starts sounding like a real drag.”

“You know, I thought you would be uglier.”

“Huh. Thanks?”

“I heard that you were covered in scars. You don’t look so bad, really.”

“You sound disappointed.”

“You were looking at me before. Have you seen my work?”

“Ritchie said you were an actress in France. You coming to work in Hollywood?”

“Simon is going to help me do different sorts of movies than what I was doing back home.”

“Were you stuck in those rotten American action-movie rip-offs they do over there?”

“No, pornography. I’m very famous for it in Europe. In Japan, too.”

Hey, at least she didn’t tell me she’s dead.

“I’ve met a couple of local porn girls in clubs over the years. I’m never sure what’s worse for them—not recognizing them or recognizing them too quickly.”

She smiles.

“It’s fine either way. All that matters is that the person isn’t too mean or too happy to meet you.”

“Good way to put it. I’ve been trying to work through something like that myself.”

“I know. You may not know me, but I recognized you and your funny nom de plume.”

“Don’t blame me. Hellions gave me that behind my back. I didn’t even know about it until a cop told me.”

“It’s better than ‘whore.’ That’s usually what’s said behind my back.”

“Most people are idiots. There’s nothing worse than idiots who tell you their opinions.”

I puff my fake cigarette. It really doesn’t taste that bad, but the plastic texture is hard, like sucking nicotine through a spackle gun.

“So you’re in Light Bringer. You an angel or what?”

“Don’t be silly. I’m Eve, the destroyer of men and, so, the whole world.”

“And here I am without a drink to toast you with.”

“See? I’m much worse than you could ever be, Sandman Slim.”

“People call you names behind your back, but trust me, they’d call me worse if they weren’t afraid I’d skin them and wear them like oven mitts.”